Wilting Sunflower
by Iseria Dweller
Summary: No older than 16 of summers. Just what kind of past did she led before becoming a chooser of slain? Tiny, random drabble I did based on a dream I had many moons ago.


The train conductor held a look of pity. The well dressed girl in front of him was no older then 15 of summers. Technically, one could label her as a legal adult but to him, a man who has a family of 3 waiting for him back home, he considered the girl to be nothing more then a child.

A child forced into the brutal working world.

Smiling at him happily, she held her ticket up. Somehow, she must've sensed that the poor train conductor must've been giving her an obvious look of pity. The train conductor smiled back out of politeness, tore a stub off the crisp parchment and handed that stub back to her as a receipt.

She got on the train at the third class section. The smell of musty algae covered wood, torn canvas seats and burning charcoal filled her nostrils as she took a seat by the window.

Within a few minutes, she was out of the old countryside known as Villnore.

The wealthier people waved goodbyes to their loved ones.

No one waved to her from the station.

There was no one left in her life anyways. Her mother and father had the heart to sell her off to the slave trade but that didn't stop her from waving back to the strangers. For a moment, she pretended that the well dressed man and lady was her parents, weeping for her to come back home soon.

Since everyone was waving to each other in a general direction, surely the innocent couple wouldn't suspect that there was one sad, lonely girl pretending to wave to her parents who had treated her as nothing but a mere merchandise?

At long last, the train began to crawl along the rusty metal rails and Villnore was soon a speck of dust in the mere distant corner of her eyes.

Her parents told her that she would be working in Crell, in a nearby cook house.

Crell, just like Flenceburg, was a fine city. Rags were not tolerated.

How her parents got hold of such a fine velvet dress was something she didn't dare question. The black velvet corset held her form fitting chiffon violet gown tightly. It felt uncomfortable. No longer did she looked like a low working class rat, her appearance could've easily passed off for those of a middle classed young woman in that dress.

Rivers passed. Bridges were crossed. The sun finally set and it was evening when she reached the majestic city of Crell montfreige. She was unable to pronounce the city's full name but the sight of the castle like city, white walls gleaming in the pale light of the moon.

For a moment, she thought she was in Asgard.

She wished she was in Asgard but her mother once told her that the All-Mother and All-Father would have no use for her despite her brutal ability on the battlefield.

It doesn't matter anymore. She never wanted to see her mother and father anymore. The Gods and Goddesses who governed the skies were her parents now.

Not that she counted herself to be someone who is extremely religious.

It didn't really feel much like a slave trade. Her new "father" was a nice man. A jolly chef whose eatery was always patrolled by the knights who were on duty and needed something to indulge in other then the traditional castle chow.

She wasn't a good cook yet but she had enough skills to whip up fancy beverages for the customers. The men would keep coming for more.

She knew the etiquettes of serving meals but wasn't that good when it boiled down to the actual thing. The chef treated her the way a father would to a daughter. He bought her because he hated how her parents treated her and she reminded him too much of his daughter who had died in the last holy war.

Every night, they would sit down in the old, wooden kitchen and talk. She was open about almost every topic under the sky but what interested her most was the topic on the Gods and the Goddesses.

He was glad that she asked. He didn't want a heretic for a daughter. So he told her tales of what he knew from the bible then.

Tales of women who reaped souls of the worthy fallen soldiers in the battlefield. Tales of a man who ascended his way to the heavens, to claim his throne as the Chief of the Gods. Tales of angels who judged the line of souls. Tales of the rainbow bridge and its guard.

She told him that in her dreams, she was soaring above the skies freely. He laughed at her and patted her on her head before sending her to bed.

When times were hard, she would ride out to the battlefield amongst the men to make ends meet.  
She was probably the next best thing to Death itself with her 6 foot lance.

No one could match up to her.

They attempted to impersonate her in every way. Like the perfect paper dolls they were, she cut them down one by one without a minute's hesitation before telling their corpses that it was useless to go against her.

But she was still human.

And Death was something no mortal could defy against.

Smiling, she shut her eyes. The 30 year old was content that she had at least lived her short life peacefully with a stranger who had treated her as his daughter. Bless the Gods and Goddesses that her real parents sold her away.

o0o0o

Spiritual concentration was something she didn't specialize in at all. That was her middle sister's skill.

There was a reason why she wasn't really made to scout out for warriors because she was deaf in that area of specialty. She could only hear an annoying hum in her ears, signifying how large the amount of death or how 'clean' the area was spiritually.

The hum would never really go away. It was always there but she had learn how to tune it out.

Not today however.

She had a dream. She couldn't remember what it was exactly about but the fragments of memories lingering around her head told her that it revolved around a cozy kitchen, a jolly laughter from the cook and the knights who came to patrol the eatery and her ride across the bloody battlefield as a part time mercenary.

The young lady's death was a quick one.

Who was that woman....?

Gods aren't supposed to dream.

It wasn't like her to just sneak away from Asgard but it wasn't like her Father and Mother had anything in store for her today anyways.

She stood in the middle of the field that connected Crell to the noble town of Lassen, halberd gripped tightly in her right hand. Though there was no enemies nearby, she felt it comforting to just hold onto one of her most trusted weapons.

Sadness overwhelmed her. Anger then flooded her senses. The hum died down to a melodious song.

She hadn't the chance to shed any tears for the old man who had cried for her when she was slain on the battlefield as a mortal. She knew that he could feel her presence and he knew that his daughter would probably linger around that field from time to time.

Bending down, she picked up the bouquet of wilted sunflowers, its once bright yellow petals contrasting sharply against her deep violet divine armor.

Hrist Valkyrie, the eldest of the Valkyries of Asgard, then understood the meaning of true sorrow.

She must have for she had shamelessly allowed herself to cry under the stormy sky.

- O W A R I

Author's notes: I wrote this based on a dream I had many moons ago. Writing isn't really my strength and well, I'm very well aware that this probably contains heaps of grammatical errors. *shrugs*

I'm aware that there are probably no such thing as trains in the medival era (trains only existed in the industrial revolution period as far as I know o_O ) but this was what I just dreamed of so I doubt any of this could be truly "in character".


End file.
